


The Hug Shirt

by Katblu42



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katblu42/pseuds/Katblu42
Summary: A simple piece of clothing that has come to mean so much more.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	The Hug Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Thunderbirds fanfic!  
> My first ever use of flashbacks in a fic!
> 
> Many thanks to Janetm74 for feedback, advice and encouragement.

John opened up the Space Elevator capsule and retrieved the care package from Tracy Island. The long awaited supplies and spare parts were largely ignored, his sights firmly set on the small box containing the cheeseburger. When Scott was willing to detour to the mainland in Thunderbird 1 for take-away on the way back to the island you knew it had been a long and difficult day.

The first bite was devoured before he even had time to think about it, the second he savoured a little. As he took his third bite something in the care package caught his eye and he felt a slow smile spread through him. He reached down and slowly traced his free hand across the soft fabric. Setting the burger aside a moment, he lifted out the flannel shirt and draped it across his back, letting the sleeves hang over his shoulders so he could loop them together. As he resumed eating it seemed EOS was studying him intently, analysing this new fashion statement from numerous angles.

“Why has your family sent you an unlaundered item of clothing, John?” EOS asked, sounding puzzled.

“It’s Virgil’s way of telling me he knows today was rough and he’ll listen if I want to talk.” John also believed it to be a not-so-subtle reminder that it had been a while since he’d been down to the island.

“How does a shirt convey such a message?” EOS persisted.

John sighed, chewed and took a moment to consider how best to answer his curious AI companion. He wasn’t certain he had the energy for the explanation he was sure would be required, but he knew EOS would keep pressing for an answer if he didn’t respond.

“It’s kind of a long story, EOS. You might have to ask Virgil exactly how it all started, but this particular shirt – or one like it – has become somewhat of a Tracy family institution.” As he spoke he realised that this simple piece of clothing had come to mean so much more than an easily explainable concept. “It’s kind of special. It even has a nickname – the Hug Shirt.”

EOS remained quiet, the lights surrounding her camera slowly tracing clockwise circles of white as John finished his cheeseburger. She was watching him think, a process which always fascinated her. Traces of various expressions flickered across his face as he recalled memories of each of his family members interacting with the Hug Shirt. There had been previous discussions with EOS about the family’s tendency to express things through physical contact rather than words, but this went a step further.

“Do you remember asking me what a hug feels like?” he finally asked.

“Yes. You told me a hug is most often initiated as a sign of affection, but in reality it is a complex mixture of physical and emotional sensations, and can also release dopamine, serotonin, endorphins and oxytocin; that an unwanted physical embrace can elicit discomfort or fear, but being held close by a loved one can feel warm, safe, comforting, or calming - sometimes all at the same time. You also said that Virgil has a hug for every occasion, and that he is very, very good at them.”

John stifled a chuckle, having not recalled using that phrase. “Yes he is. And he has an uncanny way of knowing just when you need one. I guess that’s why the Hug Shirt gets dragged out anytime we deem someone needs one of Virgil’s hugs and he can’t be there in person to deliver one.”

“So, the Hug Shirt is used in place of physical contact with your brother?” EOS’ lights briefly flickered through the colour spectrum before returning to white. “Why do you not keep the shirt on Thunderbird 5 with you all the time?”

“The Hug Shirt is used by all of us, not just me. There’s an old photo of Alan in it, somewhere – possibly in the family photo archive? He would have only been about 8 years old. It’s a screenshot from Virgil’s computer.”

A few seconds of whirring processors was all it took for EOS to search the archive.

“This one?” EOS projected the image of a tiny Alan dwarfed by the far-too-big flannel shirt draped over him, sitting up in bed cuddling against his father’s side, but smiling in the general direction of the camera.

For a moment John just stared, transfixed. He hadn’t seen the picture in a long time and he’d forgotten his Dad was in it.

“Yeah,” he managed to quietly answer, “that’s the one.”

********

“Dad? Dad!” Gordon called from the top of the stairs. “Allie’s had a bad dream!”

“Alright, Gordon. I’ll be right there,” Jeff said, sighing heavily as he set aside the spreadsheet he’d been working on. Glancing over at his mother as he passed, he forestalled her suggestion that she take care of this with a smile and a gesture of his hand.

“I’ll warm up some milk,” she suggested, heading for the kitchen. “It might help him settle back to sleep.”

Long before he reached the bedroom door he could hear the sobs and ragged breaths from his littlest, and the soothing tones uttered by his second youngest. He walked in to find Gordon trying desperately to console Alan, who’s face was buried against Gordon’s neck, too shaken by the nightmare to do anything but cry. As Jeff approached the bed wide brown eyes looked up into his.

“I heard him all the way from my room. He was screaming, calling for Virgil. He won’t tell me what he was dreaming about.”

Jeff sat on the side of Alan’s bed and coaxed him out of his brothers arms and into his own embrace, stroking his hair and reassuring him that everything was alright, it was just a bad dream.

“B-bu-huh, but Vir-Virgie,” Alan sobbed and hiccoughed, shaking his head. “Heh he sno-not okay. They hu-hurt him.”

He dissolved into tears again and it seemed nothing Jeff or Gordon said could erase the images of the nightmare.

“I promise you, Allie, Virgil is just fine.” Jeff tilted Alan’s head up so those bright blue eyes were looking into his own. “I spoke to him this morning. He’s coming home next weekend for a visit.”

“No, no!” Alan continued to protest. “The bad guys got him, and, and he ne-needs us to . . .” The last few words were swallowed by more sobs.

Jeff turned his gaze on Gordon thinking he might have to have words with the teen about the kinds of movies and video games that were appropriate for an eight-year-old, suspecting gangsters and zombies might be some of the bad guys in question.

“I know something that might help,” Gordon said quietly, then ran out of the room. He returned moments later with one of Virgil’s flannel shirts and started tucking it around his little brother, slipping his little arms inside the long sleeves which had to be folded back on themselves to reveal his hands, and pulling the back of the collar up under Alan’s chin. “Just like one of Virgie’s hugs!”

Alan gave his brother a weak smile, but his eyes still glistened with tears. In the meantime Jeff had rummaged his phone out of his pocket and initiated a video call.

_“Hey, Dad,”_ a familiar, but tinny voice rang out through the small speaker. _“What’s going on?”_

Alan shuffled himself against his father’s side so he could see the screen Jeff held in front of them.

“Virgie!” he exclaimed in wide-eyed disbelief.

_“Hi Allie. What are you doing awake so late?”_ He decided to momentarily ignore the fact that Alan was wrapped up in what appeared to be one of his favourite old shirts.

“You’re okay!”

_“Of course I am, Squirt. Even better now I get to see you.”_

“But, but I saw them hurt you,” Alan babbled. “The bad guys took you away and they were being really mean and they hurt you really bad and made you cry and . . .”

Seeing the rapid succession of shocked and confused expressions displayed on Virgil’s face, Jeff decided he should interrupt.

“Alan had a bad dream and was convinced that something had happened to you. I’m sorry to interrupt your study, but nothing we could say would assure him you’re okay.”

_“That must have been some dream.”_ Virgil’s eyes searched his Dad’s for a moment, full of concern and unasked questions, then he turned his attention to his little brother. He made sure to look straight at the camera on his computer so Alan would see him looking directly at him. _“Alan, look at me. I’m okay. No bad guys. I’m not hurt. No one’s being mean to me, and the only thing that makes me cry is when I think of how much I miss being home with you and Gordon and all my family._

_“Did Gordo loan you my shirt?”_ Alan nodded. _“Here’s what I want you to do – close your eyes, pretend that I’m inside that shirt and my arms are wrapped around you and I’m giving you the biggest, warmest, tightest hug ever, because I’m sending you that hug all the way from Denver.”_ Virgil watched as Alan did as he asked, screwed his eyes tight shut, clutched his arms around himself, relaxed against his Dad’s side and began to smile. _“Better?”_

Alan opened his eyes and nodded to Virgil’s image on the phone screen. Suddenly his eyes were drawn to something Virgil couldn’t see, in the direction of Alan’s bedroom door.

“Grandma, Virgil just gave me a hug all the way from Denver,” Alan explained, excitedly.

“That sounds wonderful, dear.” She handed him the mug she’d carried in. “You know what goes really well with long-distance hugs? A nice cup of warm milk.”

“Thanks Grandma.” He clutched the mug in both hands, warming his fingers as he took a large sip.

Jeff pressed his baby boy a little tighter against him and suggested it was time they let Virgil get back to studying, but Alan was reluctant to let his big brother out of his sight just yet.

“No, wait! Can Virgil play me a song?”

_“Sorry Sprout, no can do. My keyboard’s out of action at the moment and it’s gonna take too long to open the computer program without ending the call.”_

“Can you tell me a story then?” Virgil looked at his dad, who gave a one shouldered shrug and a smile. “Pleeeease?” Alan whined.

_“Alright. Just one story.”_

Alan finished drinking his milk as Virgil recited the first half of one of their favourite bedtime stories from memory. Grandma took the empty mug, gave him a kiss on the forehead and made her exit. Before the story reached its climax Alan’s eyelids were drooping closed and his head rested heavily against Jeff’s chest. Gordon, thinking his baby brother was asleep, suggested that the rest of the story didn’t need to be told, but a mumbled protest was made. Gordon sighed, said goodnight and headed back to his own room knowing that the drama was over. Virgil dutifully finished the story knowing full well that Alan was asleep before the end. He and Jeff whispered goodnight to each other and ended the call and Alan was finally tucked snugly beneath the covers, still clad in his big brother’s shirt.

********

“That’s the earliest example I know of, but certainly not the only time the Hug Shirt has seen one of us through nightmares, illness or plain bad moods over the last ten years or so.”

“There are other examples?” EOS prompted.

“Plenty.” A quick succession of memories flickered through John’s mind again, and he latched onto a few specific recollections. “The shirt spent a lot of time with Gordon when he was recovering from the hydrofoil crash. Much as we all wanted to be there with him through every minute, it was just impossible. Having that simple, physical reminder that even when we couldn’t be with him in person, we were there in spirit gave him some comfort. It also helped Virgil through his guilt every time he had to leave the hospital.”

John took a moment to begin stowing some of the provisions before continuing.

“I guess Gordon and Alan have made the most use of the Hug Shirt. Both of them are still inclined to seek it out if they need a little extra comfort, particularly when they’re sick. I guess it’s something that’s tactile and familiar – a bit like a favourite teddy bear, or a security blanket. It can also be an almost unconscious invitation for one of their older brothers to ask if they’re okay and offer some emotional support.”

EOS remained silent, watching John check each component and tool off the list before storing it away for later use, listening as he let memories form into words. She didn’t always understand humans and their emotions, so any chance to hear John talk about his family was an opportunity to learn.

“There was that time a couple of years ago when Virgil was injured . . .”

********

“Are you sure he’s okay here, Grandma? Maybe we should have taken him to a hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Have a little faith, Scott. I know what I can handle, and we have everything we need to look after him here.”

“But he still hasn’t woken up yet.” Alan’s voice sounded small, and his eyes glistened with tears he didn’t want to let fall. “That’s a bad sign, right?”

“Two’s all squared away. John’s on his way down. How is he?” Gordon asked, breathless from running all the way from the hangar. He leaned a hand on Alan’s shoulder trying to see past both him and Scott to the still, pale figure on the infirmary bed.

Grandma was all business. Steady hands inserted the IV line and then began cutting away the bandage on Virgil’s leg so she could begin cleaning and stitching the wound. Her eyes constantly flicking to the readouts of the monitoring equipment to check vital information. The head injury was a concern, but not an immediate danger. Likewise, the cracked ribs could wait. She largely ignored the concerned looks and hushed chatter of the other boys, occasionally asking one of them to hold something, call out a reading, or fetch things that were out of reach. None of the boys minded when she had to push one of them out of the way so she had more room to work.

“Grandma?” She turned towards the new voice coming from the infirmary door and her gut twisted at the worry in those turquoise eyes. Worry that was mirrored on the faces of her two youngest grandsons, and barely concealed in the eldest’s.

Sally gave the boys a smile that felt a little weaker and wobblier than she’d intended. “He’s going to be fine, boys. It’s just going to take a little time and some TLC. In the meantime, this room is getting a little crowded. I suggest you all head upstairs, get cleaned up, get some rest. Virgil’s not going anywhere, and his condition is stable.”

The suggestion that they should leave was met with resistance. Protests were made vocally and through stubborn reluctance to move. Finally, Sally took Scott’s hand in both of hers and met those intense blue eyes with a determined plea in her own. Scott sighed, dropped his gaze, his shoulders sagging slightly, and nodded his acquiescence. He stepped over to the side of the bed and leaned close to his incapacitated brother, stroking his hair, squeezing his shoulder, softly speaking close to Virgil’s ear.

“Hang in there, Virg. Come back to us soon. We’re all here for you.” He stepped away, looked over at Grandma who smiled fondly, looked back at Virgil, then slowly left the room.

Gordon and Alan took their own turns at reassuring their fallen brother that whilst they had to leave they would not be far away, and reluctantly followed Scott. John was more hesitant. Sometimes monitoring a situation from Five felt so far away. Being right here in the room and still being helpless almost felt worse. All he could do was squeeze Virgil’s hand, gently trace his fingers down his pale cheek and whisper, “I’m here, Virgil. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

John headed upstairs to the lounge, certain in the knowledge that Grandma had everything in hand and would notify them if there was any change in Virgil’s condition. He arrived to find Alan and Gordon in the middle of an argument, and an exasperated Scott trying to keep the peace.

“But I thought of it first!”

“No way, Alan! You didn’t want it until I got it out.”

It was then that John noticed the two blondes each had both hands on a certain plaid shirt held between them as they yelled in each others’ faces and tugged back and forth.

“I can just get another one of Virgil’s shirts and you can have one each.”

Scott’s suggestion was immediately shot down in flames with some of the most violent, angry death stares he’d ever seen and loud protests that only one shirt was the “real” Hug Shirt, and neither of them would accept a replacement.

The tug-o-war continued, both boys determined not to let go despite the increasingly dirty tactics being employed to gain the upper hand. Sensing the structural integrity of the shirt was in danger if the wrestling match continued, Scott and John stepped in to try and put an end to the fight. Somehow the addition of two more brothers only increased the tangle of limbs, fabric, furniture and cushions. Shouted insults and arguments gradually gave way to little more than guttural grunts.

By the time Kayo returned from her mission and wandered up from the infirmary with an update on Virgil’s condition she found all four brothers crashed out in a tangle on and beside the couch each draped in or clutching part of the Hug Shirt. She snapped a photo (which she would give to Virgil later) before settling herself on the floor next to Scott, her head resting against the flannel sleeve draped over his shoulder.

********

“Kayo says she has photographic evidence of that, but I’ve never seen it.” John smiled up at EOS’ camera unit. “I did catch Kayo in the shirt late one night, though. Don’t ever tell her I told you this! It was at the beginning of one of my dirt-side rotations, so I was still getting used to the day/night cycle. It was around 3am and I was headed for the kitchen because I couldn’t sleep. I nearly ran into Kayo on her way back to her room with a mug of hot chocolate in her hand. She was wearing the Hug Shirt.” In fact, if he recalled correctly, she wore only the Hug Shirt and little else. “I suspect she might have had a nightmare, but the look she gave me did not invite me to ask. I’d go so far as to say the look was a warning to never speak of that moment to anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me, John,” EOS reassured him.

All items from the latest package from home were now appropriately stowed. EOS followed John as he headed back to the com centre to check for any developing situations they might need to keep an eye on.

“Does Scott require the use of the Hug Shirt like the others do?” EOS enquired, thoughtfully. John turned to face her camera unit and used a support strut to arrest his momentum, coming to a stop as he considered his answer.

“I have my theories about Scott.” John could have sworn EOS’ camera unit adopted a slight tilt that equated to an expression of curiosity. “Scott always seems to know exactly where to locate the shirt if someone’s looking for it. My suspicion is that it ends up in Scott’s room when he’s being too stubborn to admit to anyone that he needs to talk through his emotions. Maybe he’s just getting in first, before Virgil can threaten him with it. I can’t begin to guess how many times I’ve heard Virgil say ‘If you tell me “I’m fine” one more time I will use the Hug Shirt to tie you down until you talk to me!’. Scott uses a similar tactic on Virgil, though. He’ll literally throw the shirt at Virgil as a reminder that even he needs to give in to the smothering every once in a while.”

John chuckled to himself, shaking his head slightly and letting himself get lost in the images of his big brothers fighting about which of them was worse at accepting their need for emotional support.

“John?” EOS tentatively broke through his thoughts.

“Yes, EOS?”

“Is there a reason Virgil thought you might need the comfort of the Hug Shirt at this time?”

“Well,” John sighed heavily, “today was . . . difficult. One of the busiest we’ve had in a long time. There was a lot to keep track of, a lot of priorities to be assessed, split-second decisions to be made. With our resources stretched as thin as they were today there were situations we just could not attend. There were people who lost their lives today because International Rescue were unable to assist. Virgil knows – all my family know – all of those things take an emotional toll.”

The lights surrounding EOS’ camera illuminated in a purple semicircle as she emitted a sound that was something between a sigh and a hum. She seemed to pause in thought, lights tracking clockwise and changing to green.

“Shall I prepare the space elevator for you to make a trip to Tracy Island?” she offered.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” John said, softly. “But maybe we should put in a call to Virgil.”

EOS placed the call and John was not surprised to find his raven-haired brother sitting at the piano when he answered.

“Hey, John.” Virgil didn’t stop playing, but he raised his head to look up at his brother’s projected image. The piece was one John recognised but couldn’t name. “I had a feeling you’d call.”

“Right,” John’s raised eyebrow and mock scowl was met with the slight upward curve at the corners of Virgil’s mouth. “It had nothing to do with certain items sent up to Five in the elevator. Do I have Scott to thank for the cheeseburger?”

“Scott brought it back to the Island for me to put in the elevator, but Gordon was the one who suggested take-away, and Alan’s whining possibly helped convince Scott to make the detour.” Virgil gave a soft, low chuckle then cocked his head slightly, regarding his space-bound brother. “You know, I was about to give up waiting and call you.”

“Sorry, I would have called sooner but I had to explain my fashion accessory to EOS.”

A smirk worked its way across Virgil’s face. “And how’d that go?”

“Let’s just say it’s an interesting conversation to enter into. One I wasn’t expecting to be quite so involved.” John paused as Virgil finished the piece he’d been playing and sat looking back at him with a quizzical expression. “Actually, it’s given me an opportunity to ask you . . . How did this all start? Where did the Hug Shirt concept come from?”

Virgil lifted his hands off the piano keys and placed them on his knees, sitting up a little straighter as an expression of nostalgia gave his features a far-away look that somehow made John think of their mother.

“It was Gordon. A few weeks after I started college.”

********

_“Hey Gordo!”_ Virgil greeted his brother as his image lit up the tablet screen. 

“Hi,” the despondent reply was mumbled back.

Virgil had only called because of the three messages he’d missed while attending classes earlier in the day. He’d known something was bothering Gordon, but hadn’t expected the sullen silence from his usually exuberant brother. That spoke volumes, and had Virgil a little worried, but he couldn’t help addressing the image that he saw before him.

_“Is that my shirt?”_

“Yes.” There was no point in denial, but Gordon felt uncomfortable answering, particularly under the scrutiny of those inquisitive brown eyes and the quirk of the raised eyebrow.

_“And you’re wearing it because . . .”_

“It’s soft and warm and smells like you.” His voice squeaked on the last word and he shrugged himself deeper into the checked flannel, feeling small.

_“And it’s back-to-front because . . .”_

“It’s the closest I could get to one of your hugs. Not as good as the real thing, but this one doesn’t let go.” Gordon watched as a smile began forming on his big brother’s face, then fell, replaced with a look of hurt and then concern. He felt guilty, but he was hurting and the brother he needed was so far away.

_“Gordon?”_ Virgil’s voice was quiet but still commanded attention. _“I might be 500 miles away, but you know I’d never let you go. Not where it counts.”_

Gordon found it difficult to meet Virgil’s gaze, even through the filter of technology where the cameras and screens didn’t make it easy to look eye to eye. He knew the inability to reach out and hug a brother who was literally crying out for one would be like a dagger in Virgil’s heart. And he didn’t begrudge his brothers leaving home to follow their dreams. He just needed something that had always just been there . . . until today.

_“I’d hug you if I could, little brother. I can see how much you’re hurting, and I’d give anything to be able to fix that.”_

“I know.” Gordon swallowed hard, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “And I honestly didn’t mean to make you worry.” His hands brushed at the soft flannel fabric and he looked up at the screen with a shaky smile. “To be honest, the shirt works better than I thought it would, especially now I hear your voice.”

He was rewarded with a smile that quirked the left side of Virgil’s mouth upward, and sparkled in those deep brown eyes.

_“You’d better keep the shirt then, Squid. At least until I get home. Wear it when you need it and know that I’m not as far away as it seems.”_ There was a brief pause as Virgil reached around to grab something off the bed. _“You know, I have something here that I use to stop me feeling like I’m far from the people I love, something I needed to do so I could keep you all close. You’ve seen me wear this jacket, right?”_ Virgil held up his well-worn jacket as Gordon nodded, then he turned it so Gordon could see patches sewn onto the upper part of the right sleeve. Six carefully arranged cloth patches stitched onto the denim. _“Well, I added these. Now you’re all with me wherever I go.”_

Gordon’s eyes widened as he recognised the significance of each of the six designs. Virgil was talking him through each one, but he didn’t need the explanations. Virgil had designed them himself and had them embroidered at some little shop in town, then sewn them on by hand. At the top was a patch that combined the logos of dad’s Mars mission and Shadow Alpha One and next to that a patch with a purple background that depicted the Rod of Asclepius superimposed over Grandma’s old Cessna. Beneath those were a patch that looked a lot like Scott’s Air Force unit logo with the addition of a futuristic jet plane that Gordon recognised from a poster on Scott’s bedroom wall, and one that was a modified NASA logo that included John’s favourite constellation. The final two patches included one with a crescent shaped moon, a big yellow star and a giant, bright red rocket ship which Gordon recognised as an exact replica of a drawing that had spent an entire year stuck to the refrigerator, and the final patch that Gordon stared at in amazement. The stitching around the outside was bright yellow. The design on the patch depicted an underwater scene with a large purple squid in the lower section, a couple of tropical fish above that and lane markers striped across the top of the water line.

“They’re amazing, Virgil.” Gordon’s mood had brightened and he smiled.

_“Thanks, Gords. But the best thing for chasing the homesick blues away is seeing that smile of yours. You had me worried for a while. You wanna tell me what chased the sunshine away from your face earlier?”_

Gordon took a deep breath and sighed heavily before launching into the story of the worst day at school ever. The details all came tumbling out. Virgil listened silently to the tale of woe. He agreed that it could be difficult getting hold of Scott because of Air Force protocols. Together they lamented the fact that calling John meant dealing with time zone calculations, and while John was great for homework help he sometimes struggled to really engage with personal problems. Virgil discovered that Gordon felt he couldn’t talk to Dad because he was always so busy with the Pacific Project, and Alan, well, Gordon wasn’t about to dump his problems on his little brother even if he thought it would do any good.

_“Hey, Squid, I really gotta go.”_ Virgil looked apologetic as he checked the clock in the bottom corner of his screen. _“I can call back a little later if you like?”_

“Nah, I’m all good. Thanks for listening, Virg.”

_“Any time, little bro. Give Allie and Dad a hug for me.”_ He waved and waited for Gordon to end the call.

********

“So, what was so traumatic that Gordon had to invent a way to simulate one of your hugs?” John asked.

“You remember that girl with the strawberry blonde curls that he used to talk about all the time?” Virgil answered with a chuckle.

“The one he had a crush on for about two years? Sophie something? No, Cindy!”

“Yeah, Cindy Tollerman. He was totally smitten with her, but she was going out with some meat-head football player.”

“I remember.” John nodded, curiosity causing him to lean closer to the holoprojector.

“Well, Gordon found out she’d broken up with the football jerk over the summer.”

“Don’t tell me. He finally got up the courage to ask her out and she rejected him.”

“Laughed in his face,” Virgil confirmed. “Poor kid was heartbroken and mortified, but it didn’t end there. Apparently he was so distracted during afternoon classes he ended up with a detention. Something about a teacher calling on him repeatedly to answer a question and thinking he was ignoring her on purpose just to get laughs. Detention made him late for swim training, which in his mind was going to set him back leading into a big meet the following month.”

“Poor Gords.” John’s eyes twinkled with laughter despite recognising how miserable it would have been for his brother at the time. “I can certainly see why he’d need one of your hugs after that.”

And thus the Hug Shirt was born.


End file.
